Dean stayed up late that night, trying – and failing – to read Great Expectations, while mentally kicking himself for not realizing that Sam wasn't feeling well sooner.

The fact that Sam had come right out and said it, had admitted that he didn't feel well, was really troubling Dean. Sam never does that. He doesn't like being babied, and always tries to downplay any illness, no matter how serious.

Dean remembers, when Sam was eleven, he got a case of tonsillitis that was so bad his throat swelled up to the point the kid passed out from lack of oxygen. Up until then, Sam had insisted it was just a cold. Dean had allowed him to go to school and everything, despite the feeling in his gut that told him Sam was sicker than he was letting on.

After that, Dean always had his guard up at the first clue that Sam was sick.

He assumed that's why he was wide-awake and alert now. He was just waiting for Sam to need him in some way, whether it be a spiked fever or a rebelling stomach.

But it never happened.

Sam was still sleeping soundly when 2:00 am rolled around and Dean decided it was safe to get some shut-eye.

xxx

"Sammy." Dean shook his brother's shoulder lightly. "Hey, you gotta wake up for me."

Sam opened a bleary eye. "S't'rday," he protested with a moan.

Dean chuckled. "I know it's Saturday, but you've been asleep for 14 straight hours. Time to hydrate." He pulled the covers off Sam's body and hauled him into the sitting position. "You feeling any better this morning?"

Sam considered. "Yeah, a little bit," he said quietly. He still wouldn't look Dean in the eyes.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the untouched glass of water on the nightstand. "Here, dude. I wasn't kidding about hydrating."

Sam glowered at the glass, but ended up drinking half the water under Dean's watchful eye.

"Your stomach still upset?" Dean asked.

"Not really," Sam mumbled, noncommittally. "I don't know."

His voice sounded tired. Forced.

Dean pressed a hand up against Sam's forehead and found that his brother was still cool as a cucumber.

"Dean, stop," Sam said. "I'm okay."

Dean drew his hand back. "Sorry, man. It just ain't like you to admit when you're not feeling well."

"I'm okay," Sam said again. "Didn't mean to worry you." He scrubbed his hands over his face and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Gotta take a leak." He mustered up a half-hearted smile and then trudged into the bathroom.

xxx

Despite Sam's consistent claims of I'm okay, Dean, he still stayed in bed, sleeping or mindlessly watching TV, nearly the entire day. He only got up to use the bathroom.

Dean pressed canned soup and saltines on him when he was awake, and was relieved that Sam's stomach was able to handle it.

It was a lazy day, to say the least. Dean had muddled through three chapters of Great Expectations, and by the time 7:00 rolled around he was itching to get out of the motel.

Typically, Dean would head out to the bars without a second thought since Sam was old enough to stay alone – the dork normally did homework on Saturday nights anyway. Dean also had a surplus of convincing fake IDs and was blessed with looking older than eighteen, so he was never questioned when he stepped foot in a bar.

But tonight, Dean was leery of leaving Sam on his own. The day had gone by without incident, but Dean knew from past experiences how quickly Sam could go downhill when he was sick.

"You still doin' okay over there, Sam?" Dean asked from the table, where he was reading the newspaper.

"Yeah." Sam was absently flipping channels, causing the sound to cut in and out. It was driving Dean nuts.

"Hey," Dean said suddenly when his eyes landed on a certain section of the newspaper. "You want to catch a flick? There's a dollar movie theater two blocks from here."

Sam shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Yeah?" Dean asked. "You're feeling well enough?"

"To watch a movie? Yeah, I think I can swing that."

Dean chuckled. That was the most Sam had said all day. "Sweet. Campfire Tales starts at 8:10."

"Horror film?" Sam asked.

"What do you think?"

Sam gave a thumbs-up and smirked. It was one of their favorite pastimes: watching crappy scary movies and getting a kick out of how poorly written and obscure they were. Going to see it on a big screen was a rare treat. Normally, the boys settled for watching their flick-of-choice on the outdated TV set of whatever motel they were staying in.

xxx

Campfire Tales was about as cheesy as they come, which is what Sam and Dean lived for. Four teenagers wreck their car in the middle of nowhere, stumble upon a campsite, build a fire, and tell ghost stories. It was four stories rolled into an overarching plot, which Dean – always the critic – thought was unique and creative. The movie was suspenseful enough and Dean enjoyed being able to laugh inwardly at the crowd's reactions. The scariest parts, of course, didn't faze him at all, but he got a kick out of the screams and whimpers surrounding them.

Sam stayed awake the entire movie, but wasn't laughing along with Dean like he usually did. It was like he had come along just for Dean's benefit and was going through the motions.

When the movie ended and the lights came on, Dean looked over at his brother, and for a split-second he thought he saw tear tracks on Sam's cheeks. It made Dean's stomach drop into his toes.

But then Sam rubbed his hands over his face and when he removed them he had a smile on his face. Dean couldn't be sure if his little brother had been crying or if he was just imagining things.

"Did you like the movie, Dean?" Sam asked, in a voice that sounded overly cheerful, when he realized Dean was staring at him.

"Yeah, it was decent," Dean answered, still studying Sam's face. He couldn't tell if Sam's eyes looked red and puffy or not. "Did you like it?"

Sam nodded. "Thanks for bringing me, Dean. I-I had a lot of fun."

That was all the convincing it took – Sam's eyes were definitely watery with unshed tears and Dean was fairly certain his voice had wobbled when he spoke.

Dean took a tender hold of his brother's arm. "Sammy, what's the matter?" he asked lowly. People were still filing out of the theater as the credits rolled.

Sam swallowed hard, looking away from Dean's concerned gaze. "I'm okay," he insisted again. "I'm just tired. Can we go now?"

Dean hesitated, but he didn't want Sam to get worked up in a public place, so he didn't press the matter.

"Sure, kid. Let's go."

xxx

On the walk back to the motel, Sam vomited into a trashcan that was outside a local boutique.

It happened so quickly.

Once second Sam was walking beside Dean, brooding with his hands jammed in his pockets, the next he was hunched over the metal receptacle, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach.

No warning.

Dean kept a hand on the kid's back while he rode through the nausea and shielded him from the prying eyes of passerby.

"You good?" Dean asked, when Sam seemed to have caught his breath.

Sam spit one more time into the trashcan and nodded.

"Okay, come on, let's get you home."

xxx

"I thought you were feeling better," Dean said, handing an opened water bottle to his brother who was propped up by pillows.

Sam had gone straight to bed when they got back, detouring only to brush his teeth.

"I was, Sam maintained. "I am."

Dean raised his eyebrows, unbelieving. "Your hands are shaking," he noted, as Sam brought the water up to his mouth to take a cautious sip.

Sam swallowed and handed the bottle back to Dean. "That's 'cause I hate throwing up."

Dean heart ached with sympathy. "I know you do, kid." He reached up to feel Sam's forehead. Still cool. "You need anything?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm good. You can quit hovering."

Dean chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I hear you," he said. Then he turned on his big-brother no-nonsense voice. "Wake me up if you need anything, Sam. I mean it." He pulled the covers up to Sam's chin and patted his chest. "Get some sleep, man."

Sam let out a wavering sigh. "I will. G'night, Dean."

He pulled the covers up over his shoulder and turned on his side, facing the wall.

And even though Dean was still sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, could still feel the warmth of Sam's back pressed into his, he had never felt so distant from his brother in his life.

With a sigh, Dean squeezed the kid's shoulder and stood up.

He slipped into his own bed and flipped on the TV, turning the volume down low, prepared to sit vigil for the night.

TBC…